


Midnight Dreams

by Tagpye



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: F/M, Light Dom/sub, Lucifer could spit in my mouth and I would say "Thank you sir.", POV Second Person, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:02:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25694722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tagpye/pseuds/Tagpye
Summary: You're having a restless night and you find yourself lurking outside Lucifer's door. Lucifer helps you sleep, one way or the other.
Relationships: Lucifer (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Lucifer/Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 359





	Midnight Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have a beta and I wrote this while deliriously horny for Lucifer so honestly I have no idea how coherent this fic is.
> 
> Also follow me on Twitter for more horny posting: https://twitter.com/NynAfterHours

You creep by his door; it’s late, and no one else in the House of Lamentation seems to be burning the midnight oil. 

No one else except Lucifer that is. He works by candlelight, the sound of his quill scratching against parchment is the only indication he is still awake.

You press an eye to the gap in the door, quietly, like a silent observer in the field. Not disturbing, just observing. You catch the sharp lines of his trousers, the fringes of his hair bobbing occasionally into view, it’s enough. You pull back and turn to head to your room. 

The floor creaks traitorously however, Lucifer’s head immediately snaps towards the door and you daredn’t move in case the aching wood incriminates you more.

It’s futile however,

“I know you’re there.” He calls out.

After a few moments of composure, you bashfully press your head through the door.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you.” You reply quietly.

He looks up, he’s surrounded by books and stacks of handwritten notes which sit aside him on the ebony desk. His expression softens, and he motions for you to come inside.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He says, attention drawing back to his quill.

You’re stood there in your nightgown, it isn’t exactly appropriate wear for such a meeting. You snake your arms around your chest self-consciously.

“Yeah, I just went for a walk to try and get myself tired again.” 

“And any particular reason why you were snooping by my room?”

Heat tingles at your cheeks. “You’re the only other person awake at this time. Sorry.”

The scratching pauses for a moment, he is still engrossed in whatever he’s doing but he pats the edge of the armchair he’s sat on.

“You can sit with me for a while. Here.”

It flits through your mind that it would be rather rude for you to refuse, but your heart is already pounding at the thought. You have tried your best to keep your interest in him under wraps, you don’t want to seem desperate, or too eager. You just want him to like you. 

However he notices your hesitation. 

“It was only a suggestion, you can go back to your room if you like.” 

“N-no.” You stutter. “No I’d like to sit next to you, excuse me.”

You perch delicately on the arm, your rump barely touching the wine red velvet furnishing, as your hands fold themselves uselessly in your lap. You make an attempt to focus on whatever it is he’s working on, evidently something from Diavolo. It relates to the inner working of the House of Lamentation, that is from the few snippets you can make sense of. Finances, delegation of duties, it’s boring frankly. That makes it all the more harder to draw your attention away from the rising heat between your legs. 

He isn’t doing anything in particular to cause this effect, you are simply hungry for it. He is elusive and reserved, any shared moments between the two of you are a rarity and you often yearn for more.

It makes this situation an unusual occurrence, it does nothing to quell your racing heart nor the red smattering against your cheeks. You’re alone with Lucifer, and he is  _ so so _ close.

“You’ll fall off the chair if you keep being so coy.” He mutters, face framed by his fine black hair. Heat rises through you like piping smoke as he wraps his hands around your waist and hoists you up further onto the chair. The armrest wedges between your thighs and your legs brush against his own, you fight a whimper that wrestles in your throat.

That seems to satisfy him, but it doesn’t satisfy you. You’re angled towards him and a gloved hand remains sitting at the small of your back. It’s burning, his touch is there, present, on your body. You fist the hem of your night clothes and try to keep your composure.

A few moments pass, the only sounds being the scrape of the quill, the ticking of the grandfather clock, and your increasingly laboured breathing, before he sighs again.

“You’re fidgeting, is there something wrong?”

“The chair.” You puff, composure slipping with every word you form. “The chair is uncomfortable.”

His brow creases, he’s getting annoyed. “Where else would you like to sit then? My lap?”

“No!” You squeak. “Sorry, I’ll try to keep quiet.”

This time you have his attention, he turns to face you and looks you over. You can only plead that he doesn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, that he doesn’t notice the fabric scrunched up in your grip, nor the rouge painted across your cheeks. 

He reaches out and lightly graces his fingertips by your cheek. “If being so close to me is making you uncomfortable, how about you grab a cushion and sit beside me on the floor? We don’t often get time to spend with each other, I’d like your company, and I have no interest in making you feel unpleasant.”

“I don’t feel unpleasant.” You respond. “Being around you just makes me feel... a little on edge if I’m being honest.”

He chuckles, “Please, I don’t want you to feel intimidated by me. I do value the time you’ve spent with us, I apologise if my demeanor makes you feel as if I am unapproachable.”

He tips forward and pulls out a cushion from the back of the chair, plopping it down by his feet. 

“If that isn’t comfortable enough for you, there is a small stool at the back of the room.”

You nod, and drop down to your knees. 

This sort of position is indeed more comfortable, you can’t quite stare up at him without it seeming strange, so you simply watch the shadows of the candlelight dance on the wall between the legs of the desk. Against all odds you find yourself getting sleepy, the sparse sounds of the room bump pleasantly against the vestiges of your consciousness. 

Your eyes close shut, you lean your head against the armchair. You’re slipping into sleep. 

That is until a gentle hand cards through your hair. That familiar heat rears through you again, you melt against the chair.

He’s still working, he’s just lightly petting your head as if you were a labrador curled up on the family rug. The thought doesn’t help in the slightest, and you quietly squirm as he threads his fingers from the top to the bottom, hands lingering on the edges.

Your mouth clenches shut to prevent any escapees, any murmurings of delight or pleasure. The slick that begins to leak from between your legs simply makes you all the more aware, ashamed even. It’s embarrassing that the slightest amount of contact leaves you feeling so ravenous, you can’t help but to lean in to every touch, your eyes fluttering shut with euphoria. It feels good, it feels so very good, and when his index finger scratches beside the shell of your ear a breathy gasp leaves you before you can reign it back in. 

There’s a pause, and the hand reaches around to pull at your chin so he can see your breathless and red face. 

“Really now, you can’t even keep quiet from down there can you?” He says, nonplussed, slightly humoured. 

“I’ll keep quiet, promise.” You reply, scrambling to seem stoical. “I’m not doing this on purpose.”

“I know you’re not.” He smiles. “Do I need to keep your mouth occupied?”

The butterflies in your stomach flare, like a sudden updraft billowing through your guts. You struggle to respond with anything even remotely coherent.  “I-I don’t know?”

“Open your mouth.” 

It’s almost laughable how quickly you part your lips, you don’t even need to think about it. He finds it funny too, because a quiet smirk sits on his features as a gloved thumb presses inside your mouth and is quickly replaced by two of his fingers. 

“Suck.” He commands, and you do.

His fingers languidly press into you, almost in a way they would with… other areas of your anatomy. You try not to think about that, but it’s impossible not to as you feel the ridges and the rough thread grind against your tongue with each press of the leather. This was supposed to keep you quiet but you’ve never been louder, you gasp and moan into each jab of his fingers, your lips latching onto the very edge of his fingertips as he pushes them back in and you feel them prickle at the back of your throat. 

“I thought I told you to keep quiet.” He quips, giving you another steely glare. “You are doing a terrible job of it.”

You grunt a noise of acceptance, your fingers winding into your nightgown out of sheer frustration as he continues to push inside your mouth and you attempt to control the heady haze of lust that’s clogging your senses.

You are positively dripping at this point, you can feel your slick dampening the insides of your thighs as you drag your hips against the ball of your foot, desperately seeking out stimulation from the barrier of your underwear.

He notices this, because of course he does. He pulls out his fingers and smears them across your cheek.

“Honestly, if you came here to distract me from my work you are succeeding.” He chides. “Are you really going to work yourself up into such a state right in front of me?”

“I didn’t mean to.” You croak, your voice hardly sounds like your own, it’s airy and far-away. “Sorry, I couldn’t help it.”

He lets out an unconvincing sigh, “ I suppose I ought to shoulder some of the blame myself, but the question I must ask is what exactly should I do with you right now?”

You bristle, you hang on to his every word.

“Well? What do you think?”

It’s not a question you can reasonably answer, you’re verging on delirium at this point. 

“Whatever you want to do with me.” You reply, your mouth parched.

That makes him laugh, a low rumble in the pit of his stomach. “Your courage is admirable, but I wouldn’t give yourself up to the whims of a demon so readily.” 

A hand winds around the back of your neck, he pulls you closer to him. 

“However I shall be kind.” He continues, he drops the quill in his right hand and moves it to his belt. Your mouth almost salvates as he slips the leather past the buckle, and unzips the front of his trousers. “I will allow you to make yourself useful, if you are so inclined.”

It’s hard not to be self-conscious that your face feels like it’s burning, you don’t know how red you are, but you can only imagine that you look as disheveled as you feel. You watch hungrily as he opens his legs and pulls down his briefs, his large cock half-hard, stares right back at you. You shuffle forwards and peer up at Lucifer as if seeking permission. 

“Well?” He asks. 

“Please.” 

He guides the tip to your lips and your tongue pokes out to greet him, you take him in desperately all the while guided by the hand entangled in the back of your head. You are not new to this sensation, but you are not particularly experienced either. He watches you patiently as you explore his length, his size, cautiously taking him as far as you can go and rearing your head back. 

His other hand disappears to busy itself atop the desk,  _ he’s still working.  _ You moan softly against his growing dick as the familiar sounds of scuffling fill your ears. It feels filthier to be doing it like this, like you’re servicing him, like you’re doing him a  _ favour _ . 

At this point you’re selfish, you want him to stop working and pay attention to you. You hollow your cheeks and groan against his cock, your efforts become reverent, you grind your tongue against the underside of his dick and swallow him down as far as you can bear. It isn’t evident by his facial expression whether he appreciates your enthusiasm, but the hand fisting into your hair is an indication it hasn’t gone unnoticed. 

You bob against him, you’ve attempted to keep your mouth silent but the more his dick swells and grows in your mouth the more excited you get. You whimper, you slurp, you desperately suck on his cock as the burn in your gut only intensifies when the tang of precome hits your tongue. 

He stiffens, you can see the tension pulling over his features and it only accelerates your ministrations. That is, until the hand in your hair tugs painfully and he begins to buck into your mouth. Any autonomy is taken from you as he begins to force your movements, using your hair as leverage as you’re pressed down onto his dick, he hits the back of your throat and you gag slightly, but that does not stop him. The raw moan that leaves your lips borders on weeping. 

When his hips begin to smack into you, you’re certain it’s over. You’re thirsty for his cum, your mouth agape as you gasp and splutter against the thatch of his hair, but it surprises you when he pulls you off him, saliva dripping down your chin.

“Have you had enough yet?” He says, voice saccharine. “Would you like a reward?”

Your mouth doesn’t work, so you simply nod. You’re pulled until you’re stood upright, your thighs, incriminating, glistening wet against the candlelight. He fondly runs a hand down your side and pauses at your rear.

“Turn around.” 

You’re guided onto the desk, your ass jutting out in front of him. You pivot on your elbows, staring into stacks of parchment as the anticipation burns at your ears.

It’s agonizing, the wait, your hot breath misting against the varnished wood. You try to watch the flickers of movement in the candlelight but they offer little divination as suddenly Lucifer’s gloved hand grazes up along your leg and hoists up your nightgown.

A finger curls around the elastic of your underwear and the fever in your belly grows as you feel the cool air against your ass and your pussy as he pulls the garment down.

You are bared for him, wetness dripping from your most intimate parts, as he simply does nothing and the quill begins to scratch at the desk yet again. You want to cry, you’re so desperate you simply can’t stand it, you rub your thighs together seeking out the slightest slither of touch and he responds by placing a sharp smack against your ass.

It doesn’t help. Instead you moan against the wood as more slick dribbles from your sex, hot, humid, depraved. He drags a finger along the edge of your slit as if inspecting your insides.

“Someone is  _ very _ eager I see.” He chuckles. “Keep quiet and stay still and I’ll pay you in kind.”

You suck your lips between your teeth as his finger presses into you deeper, he continues working, and he continues gradually tracing his fingertip along each dip and ridge of your pussy. He grazes your clit, but does not linger too long, he pushes a finger lightly into your entrance, but does not bury deeper. It’s impossible not to make a sound, you’re so frustrated tears are prickling at your eyes and your hands ball tightly into fists. 

He knocks against your clit again and a pained cry leaves your lips.

“Didn’t I just tell you to keep quiet?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” You garble, the room feels like it’s spinning. “Please I just want you to touch me!”

“Am I not already touching you?” He replies loftily, another finger slipping between your slit. “Or are you simply demanding more?”

You’re grasping for words, it’s difficult to produce anything coherent but the desperation forces you on anyway. “Yes! Inside of me, please!”

“Inside of you?” He smiles. “I see.”

He buries two of his fingers into your pussy and the sensation makes you buck. It’s not exactly the insertion you were wanting, but it’s close enough, good enough. He curls his fingers just so and you find yourself gasping deliriously against the desk, your hips rutting fervorously, eager to take more of him in.

His fingers begin to thrust and you match the motions; any thought, any desire, rerouted to focus entirely on chasing the high of him pressing deep inside your body. The heat in your gut grows and grows and you feel the peak of climax brimming up to engulf your senses.

That is until he stops. He pulls his fingers out, and you’re left bare.

“Please!” You cry out. “Please I’m so close!”

“I know you are.” He replies, cruel and unkind. “I said I would give you a reward, but I never said you could take and take until you are sated.”

You sob at that, your hand reaching down in frustration to press between your legs. He yanks your hand away.

“You truly have some nerve, interrupting me, continuing to interrupt me. What a rude little  _ human _ you are.”

The palm of his hand smacks painfully against your rear and you physically jump in surprise. He hits you again, and again, and again, until pleasure and pain melds into one and you’re groaning incoherently into the crook of your elbow. He continues you to spank you, until the next predictable blow is replaced by something blunt and hard digging into your pussy. 

You can only just comprehend what is happening when the head of his cock pushes into you and you wail loudly. In comparison to his fingers, this is so much more intense. You can feel him rock hard, throbbing. He lets you become accustomed to the intrusion for just a few moments before he begins to press into you again. It’s slow and deliberate, each inch filling you up more and more until you feel him bottom out.

“Are you satisfied now?” He sneers, rocking into you. “Isn’t this exactly what you wanted when you first stood outside my bedroom?”

Your reply with a garbled moan, the sensation is overwhelming, more so when he grabs at your hips and begins to smack into you sharp and hard. Any bodily strength you have has long disappeared, you lay boneless against his desk as the filthy sounds of sex consume your senses.

He hisses against your ear, low and rumbling and curling around in your belly. “You are an insatiable little harlot, I bet you’ve pleasured yourself to this very image.”

Gasping, you scramble for words. Nothing eloquent leaves your lips however, and you find yourself crying out, “I’m going to come, I-I’m going to-”

“Already?” He booms with laughter. His cock smacking into your harder and harder. “Alas I’m afraid I’m going to fuck you until morning. I hope you’re resilient.”

“Please!” Though you are not certain what you’re pleading for. “Please please please.”

In response Lucifer’s fingers wind back into your hair, this time wrenching your head back and using you for leverage as pounds into you. Each time his cock sinks into your dripping heat the pleasure shoots straight into your gut. It’s maddening, you feel as if you’re going mad. You begin to sob, hot tears streaming down your face as the crux of your climax spasms through your limbs. 

It vaguely registers that you’re yelling. You’re wailing as he fucks into you mercilessly and you feel yourself coming undone. The heat bursts in your gut and you’re shaking as the pleasure overwhelms you, everything around you drowning out. His name leaves your lips at some point, maybe more, it’s difficult to know how much time has passed until he slows and slips out of you.

You cannot speak, you can only attempt to regain your stolen breath. Not that you would have much to say anyway, you want nothing, desire nothing, you simply want to close your eyes and slip into a pleasant sleep. 

“Inadvertently it would seem I have helped you with your problem.” His voice speaks, from some far away place.

You mumble in response.

There is a quiet chuckle, and he leans in close. “Sweet dreams.” He murmurs.

You smile at that, and then drift away.

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe to be continued, depending on how horny I am for Lucifer.


End file.
